


Prayer

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Super Junior M
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-20
Updated: 2011-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zhou Mi discovers Siwon praying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prayer

Zhou Mi walks into Siwon’s room to find him on his knees.

The sight makes Zhou Mi pause, gives him a little shock that kicks low down in his belly, and he backs up, grabs for the door handle and holds on, not sure whether he should stay or go.

Siwon turns his head and looks up, expression mild and thoughtful.

“Sorry,” Zhou Mi says softly in Korean. “I didn’t... I’ll come back.”

“Stay,” says Siwon, “but wait one moment, please.”

Zhou Mi closes the door and leans against it. He glances around the dorm room, comparing it to his own. There’s a lot of empty space here, with one corner set aside for gifts from fans, bottles of wine and whiskey all lined up in neat rows. The wardrobe door is closed. Everything is clean. The only untidy thing is the sunlight, striping irregular patterns across the wooden floor.

There’s a Bible open on the bed. Siwon has a finger over one block of text. As Zhou Mi watches, he returns his attention to the passage and reads. Just that single block of text, nothing else. He frowns a little as he reads it, considers it again, and then closes the book. He sits back on his heels, folds his hands, and bows his head.

Zhou Mi shifts, uncomfortable. Though Siwon will often read the Bible in front of them, and he’ll often try to gather everyone around for a prayer before a show, there’s always something self-aware about it. Not like he’s proselytizing, but as if it’s something they expect of him and he doesn’t want to let them down.

But this is different, because it’s not for show. It’s private.

Siwon even looks different when he prays alone. He’s relaxed, more peaceful, a sort of serenity dusting his features. Zhou Mi takes a few steps across the floor, curious. Siwon doesn’t move. Zhou Mi wonders what he’s praying for; if it’s one of those ritualised prayers that need to be said a certain number of times, or if he’s asking for something specific.

Religion has always occupied an odd space in Zhou Mi’s life. Every time the question arises during an interview, he says he’s an atheist. It’s the easiest answer to give. The truth would be too confusing. His grandparents light candles, bow three times to a shrine decorated with plastic flowers and paper images of deities in red and gold. His parents light candles and mutter about superstitions, but go to the temple once in a while and leave oranges in front of the Buddha.

Zhou Mi lights candles in order to create a mood. He only does it when he’s alone; he’s never lit candles for a lover. He does it for himself, when he wants to think. Perhaps that’s a form of prayer. He does it when he wants to seduce himself, when he needs to forget what he’s doing and remember who he is.

He wonders if Siwon’s prayers work in the same way.

He moves closer. Siwon seems lost in his communion. Zhou Mi studies him, admires his thighs in the tight jeans, the curve of his arse and the muscles in his arms, the way the t-shirt hugs across his chest. Desire flickers, and Zhou Mi bites his lip, a little ashamed of such wanton thoughts while Siwon is thus occupied.

But he can’t help himself. Zhou Mi stares at Siwon’s nape, at the pale flesh and dark hair cut straight and short. Siwon’s hair is glossy and disordered, carelessly brushed back, and Zhou Mi wants to touch it, wants to sink his fingers through its warmth, stroke it over his hands. He pulls his gaze away, lets it linger instead on Siwon’s mouth, his lips soft in prayer, and then Zhou Mi studies the thick line of Siwon’s brows, the sweep of his eyelashes against his cheeks.

Zhou Mi sits on the end of the bed, drawn in by Siwon’s silence, by his stillness. He’s seen pictures of Christian saints, photographs of medieval paintings on church walls, and Siwon wears the same expression as those saints, a sort of calm surety, a kind of trust, and Zhou Mi tucks up his legs and leans sideways, watching Siwon pray, watching this intimate connection with something he doesn’t quite understand.

He wishes he could crawl inside Siwon’s head and share the experience. He thinks maybe he’s jealous. There have been times, when Siwon has retreated from him in a sudden fit of guilt, that Zhou Mi’s felt nothing but anger and frustration over Siwon’s religious beliefs. That’s not the case now. Now he’s fascinated; now it’s a way of bringing them closer.

He watches Siwon breathe, matches his own breathing to the same rhythm. Zhou Mi closes his eyes. A quiver of something akin to arousal goes through him. He feels awkward and vulnerable, aware of his position laid out on Siwon’s bed like some kind of offering on an altar.

Zhou Mi clears his mind of its usual frippery clutter. Memories surface: stone lions and swirled clouds, wide dark red columns and high thresholds, billows of harsh-scented incense smoke from ornate bronze troughs, the squeak of prayer wheels turning—when he was a child, he used to love spinning them faster and faster, enchanted by the idea of so many blessings flying out into the world; the knock of the mallet on the wooden fish and the chanting of the monks, the sonorous sound of the temple bell, the curling ashes of paper money burnt in braziers, the carp in the ponds, mouthing after crumbs; the turtles sunbathing; men and women kneeling, praying: _give me a son, grant my daughter a good marriage, keep my husband safe, cure my mother’s illness, give me, give me, give me_ —

“Zhou Mi?” Siwon’s voice, soft as a whisper, shatters the muddle of his thoughts.

Zhou Mi opens his eyes, startled. Sees Siwon looking at him.

“I,” he says, too dazed to be embarrassed, “I was...”

“Praying,” Siwon says in Mandarin, and smiles gently. “You were praying.”

Zhou Mi stretches his legs, rolls his shoulder, and sits up. The sunlight glances off the wooden floor, too bright, too painful. He puts a hand to his head and brushes at the fall of his hair, aware of a bubble of emotion lodged squarely in his chest. He blinks. His eyelashes are wet. He takes a breath; lets it out. Steadies himself.

Siwon curls a hand around Zhou Mi’s arm and strokes his thumb over the inside of his wrist. It’s ticklish but also soothing, and it’s about as much affection as Zhou Mi can take right now.

They remain in silence for a while, Zhou Mi sitting, Siwon kneeling. Siwon keeps on stroking him. Zhou Mi focuses on the sensation, on its repetitiveness, and gradually regains his equilibrium.

“When you pray,” he says at last, “what do you ask for? What do you want?”

“Want?” Siwon stops the caress, looks thoughtful again. “I don’t ask for anything. I say thank you to God. Thank you for health and friends and family and life.”

Zhou Mi stares at him. “You never ask for anything?”

Siwon smiles. “When I was younger, yes, of course. Dear God, let me pass exams, give me a puppy, I want this, I want that, please give now. But I was a child, and greedy.” He looks a little embarrassed, lifts his eyebrows in a gesture of self-mockery. “I grew up. Since then, I’ve asked only for one thing.”

Zhou Mi needs to know. “What?”

Siwon’s smile warms, deepens. He leans closer. “You.”


End file.
